


Breathing

by hereticpop



Category: SMAP
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-13
Updated: 2010-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticpop/pseuds/hereticpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the middle of the night when the open door reveals Kimura, in a state not much people have ever seen him, although Nakai more often than anybody else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing

It’s the middle of the night when Nakai opens the door, sleep still lingering at the bottoms of his eyes, softening the scowl caused by sudden awakening, and he doesn’t know yet if he’s more pissed or just plain tired. It’s the middle of the night when the open door reveals Kimura, in a state not much people have ever seen him, although Nakai more often than anybody else. His hair is a chaos, stiff from the hairspray he hasn’t washed out, still bearing some resemblance to the carefully styled shape it had hours ago but it’s mostly laughable now. There’s a black smudge of dirt on his cheek and his lip is swollen and seems cut upon closer inspection (it’s not bleeding anymore) and his shirt is torn and what the hell, was he in a fight or hit by a car or fell out a window, Nakai doesn’t know. Nakai doesn’t want to know. Sleep, anger and exhaustion flee all at once and he’s left empty and heartbroken, but mostly empty.

“Fuck,” Nakai says.

“Good idea,” Kimura replies and lets himself in, trying to seem cocky and casual but for once he’s failing at it completely. Because his body trembles slightly, his walk stumbles, something aches – everything aches.

Nakai is lost, he has to close the door and he has to follow Kimura and just basically _do something_ , but it seems too much for his mind to process even the simplest action. Somewhere at the back there is also the remaining awkwardness that he’s been facing Kimura with for quite a while now, the kind of awkwardness that is left after you say, _it’s over_ and _let’s stay friends_ , those kind of things, to the person that makes your head spin every time you see them (and that’s at least twice a week). But that awkwardness quickly evaporates in this situation, which is nothing like the usual situations and this Kimura is not like the usual Kimura; he’s so much more. A part of Nakai wants to embrace him, fucking hug him and let him just _breathe_ for as long as it takes; the other (bigger) part wants to hit him and yell at him and ask him if he’s lost his mind and what was he doing and if he thinks Nakai is there waiting for him to crawl back when he’s miserable. In the end he does neither, he finally closes the front door and turns to him. The only thing that’s left now is the doing something.

Or perhaps it’s going to be doing _someone_ after all because they end up in Nakai’s bedroom, where they knew they would end up, or rather than knew, they felt it at the bases of their necks and along their spines. Kimura loses his shirt already on the way, throwing it viciously to the floor, and Nakai can see torn skin on his elbow and bruises on his shoulder. They hypnotise him, he knows this smooth and gracious body by heart and the bruises are new, foreign and thus tempting. At the same time they make him mad. He knows he left marks on Kimura’s body more than once in the past (on occasions of different natures), but those were his marks and these are not and he doesn’t like the thought.

They stand silently for a moment, as if wondering if there are any words needed but decide against it. There is nothing they haven’t already told each other and there is nothing left to say and even if there were, it wouldn’t change anything. They are who they are and they need to shed their worn-out skins in order to feel each other again.

Kimura’s lips crash into Nakai’s with force and aggression that are surprising even for him and that’s the moment when Nakai realises that they’re going to do it as if the world was going to end tonight – and he’s up for it. He can feel the burning heat of Kimura’s swollen lip and judging by the hissing noise that escapes Kimura somehow, it must hurt but that doesn’t stop him. If anything, it makes Nakai want to kiss him even harder, hoping Kimura might moan in pain. His mouth tastes a little bloody and Nakai inhales that taste together with the hot taste of Kimura’s breath before pushing his tongue in ferociously. He tangles his hands in his hair, slightly disappointed it’s already so messed up that he can’t do much more damage.

But he always liked pulling Kimura’s hair, which gives him a bit of control and makes Kimura angry. He wants to have him angry, as much as he is capable of being, he wants to drain all the venom out of him, because somewhere at the back of his mind Nakai instinctively feels he might be the only person in the world that can handle it. Kimura leans into him and it makes Nakai step back and lose balance. For a split second he thinks they will fall (too entangled in each other to part so if Nakai falls, Kimura will fall with him), but then he feels the bed right behind him and lets himself be pushed onto it. Kimura pins him down to the mattress that is still warm with sleep, the rumpled sheets uneven under his back but it doesn’t really matter when he can feel the teeth and tongue and lips all over his neck and Kimura’s body is moving over his. Nakai’s hips thrust up on their own for more contact and Kimura pushes them down with his almost immediately. Nakai has to bite on his lower lip to restrain himself from letting out sounds that would betray him and how needy he is; Kimura knows anyway, but it’s a game they’ve been playing since long ago.

Then as soon as that Kimura is gone (and the fever radiating from his skin is gone with him) as he slides down Nakai’s body until he is kneeling in front of the bed, motioning to Nakai impatiently to lift his ass so that he can pull the pyjama pants off him. Even the slightest touch of Kimura’s fingers as he does so sends a shiver down Nakai’s spine. He sits up at the edge of the bed and spreads his legs so that Kimura fits between them perfectly (like everything he does, perfectly) and Kimura licks up his erection oh-so-perfectly sending Nakai into the outer space. For a while he’s nothing but a piece of flesh and there is nothing but tongue and lips and the whole world concentrates right where they touch. Nakai tries watching Kimura because the look of his face from this perspective is something that amazes him every time, but it’s just too much. His hand sneaks into Kimura’s hair again and he pushes his head and suddenly teeth are grazing his cock and perhaps he would notice the dark sparkle of threat in Kimura’s eyes but that’s exactly when he closes his.

They are suspended in time and space, the sense of dependence on each other is overwhelming, it’s dangerous because it leads them so close to _thinking_ about things and they can’t do that, not without damage to themselves. Hesitantly Nakai’s fist in Kimura’s hair loosens and Kimura’s mouth does wonders. He hisses again when the cut on his lip stretches too much, Nakai falls down onto the bed and doesn’t care anymore, it’s Kimura’s own damn fault for being so good at it. He thrusts, he can hear a groan or perhaps he feels it vibrating around himself, then he thinks that he can feel Kimura smile. A flick of the tongue at the head makes him arch and gasp. But before he can even gather enough of his voice at the back of his throat to insult Kimura in a very graphic manner, Kimura pulls away. It’s too sudden and Nakai lets out a tiny, if a bit girly, sigh.

“Did you miss me that much?” Kimura mocks him and he actually mocks him while stripping down, which should be illegal because it’s too much to handle and just doesn’t make any sense.

“Like a disease. You love to suck me off anyway,” Nakai says because he can’t really say how much he missed him and this seems like the next best thing to say.

And then Kimura has his fingers in him and just the awareness of the fact that Kimura has his fingers in him completely blows Nakai’s mind so that he can’t even register that Kimura is kissing his hipbone, propping himself up with the injured arm – which causes him to wince and go faster, which causes Nakai to arch and breathe a string of words that don’t make any sense, except that he’s mentioning _god_ and _Kimura_ and _fuck_ many, many times in one sentence (except that it’s not even a sentence).

The touch is gone when Kimura moves to hover over him and ushers him to take off his top and leans down to kiss him hard until it’s painful.

“Nakai, I fucking _need_ —” The way Kimura is looking at him is dark and devouring and a blaze and death.

“Do it already,” Nakai cuts him off and then Kimura is in him and Nakai realises he’s closed his eyes. He opens them and Kimura is still in him and doesn’t move, he just breathes heavily, self-control straining the veins in his neck.

“Move.” When he doesn’t, Nakai puts his hands on Kimura’s back, ready to dig his fingers into it, and repeats, “ _move_.”

(the world stops turning around, Kimura moves, they both gasp, Nakai doesn’t care anymore, it’s slow at first, the world starts turning backwards, it’s fast and hard, and fast, and hard, it’s desperate)

His hands wander up and down Kimura’s back until he finds the bruise on his shoulder and squeezes it. It makes Kimura moan and whether it’s raw or pleasurable pain, it doesn’t make much difference (they’re all the same), because Kimura’s body arches and he thrusts particularly hard and Nakai wants to do it again. The room around them becomes nothing more than splashes that whirl under his eyelids. Kimura doesn’t hold back at all, he’s panting and he’s too intense, it hurts. Nakai grits his teeth and doesn’t utter a word, especially when Kimura’s hand is on him and he wants it so much. His hips move to meet Kimura’s touch but there is no rhythm, the flow of energy becomes erratic, the flow of life between them is erratic. Kimura burns so hard Nakai is afraid he might burn out completely, if not now then another day and he’s sworn he won’t let it happen. This is not the time for thinking about it and Kimura’s stroking hand erases his mind with one flick of the thumb.

When he comes, Nakai is somewhere over the rainbow and he doesn’t want to leave that place ever. Soon enough Kimura’s orgasm explodes with final pushes of his hips. He collapses onto Nakai, his body suddenly lifeless and only hot breath signalling he’s not dead. It is a sort of death, though. Nakai holds him tightly, the sweat sticking their skin together, and he lets him breathe – for as long as it takes.

It’s still the middle of the night when Nakai wakes up suddenly and sits up on the bed. He had a dream. He’s bathing in sweat, breathing heavily, but it was just a dream. He can see Kimura’s white face when he closes his eyes and he can feel the imaginary coldness of his skin on his fingertips, but nothing of it is real. When he reaches to the side in the complete darkness, there is a warm body sleeping right next to him, the sheets messily tangled, partially pushed away. Still, an odd sense of panic squeezes Nakai’s throat.

“Kimura!” he shakes him by the shoulder and Kimura’s eyelids slowly lift, he’s blinking and trying to make out his surroundings. The soft hair (he showered before they went to sleep) falls onto his forehead and eyes and makes him seem so sweet and young when he tries to push it away.

“What the hell?” he croaks, his voice is hoarse, scratchy.

Nakai leans down to look into his face with serious eyes.

“You didn’t die, right?”

“Huh?” Kimura closes his eyes again, his expression unreadable. There is a pause before he answers, as if he was waiting for a righteous thunder from heavens to strike Nakai dead. “No. I was sleeping. It’s what people sometimes do at night.” For the first time tonight there is a real smile in his words. “But if this is why you’re waking me up, then I’m sleeping with a complete idiot.”

His arm springs up to hit Nakai, but in the end it just pushes him back on the bed. Instead of retreating to Kimura’s side though, it rests flatly across his body.

“You can wake me up for a morning quickie,” he says. “Before…”

“Before you go?” Nakai mumbles into his pillow.

“Yeah.”

The warmness that moves closer to Nakai’s side feels great and he puts his own hand on Kimura’s and he can feel his pulse. Still the sense of panic can’t leave his throat entirely as he falls asleep.


End file.
